


The Hawk's Nest Job

by awildlokiappears



Series: The Back In Business Jobs [1]
Category: Leverage, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Episodic One-shots!, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, The Leverage Team Steals The Avengers, and friends, crossover AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-02
Updated: 2016-11-02
Packaged: 2018-08-28 14:40:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8450302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awildlokiappears/pseuds/awildlokiappears
Summary: After the retirement of their two senior members, Eliot, Parker, and Hardison are making the business work pretty well, both at the pub and in the criminal world, taking down the bad guys the law can't go after. After a big lull, things take a different turn when Eliot gets the call of a lifetime...and the chance to give the world back the defenders it sorely needs...and save the Avengers from themselves too. Nate and Sophie are back in action to help, and it's up to the Leverage team to tackle the biggest heist of the century...Let's steal a superhero.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This series is my NaNoWriMo baby, so it's a bit rougher than my other stuff. Please R&R! Every bit of critique helps me improve! (And the happy noises help me keep writing!)

Leverage Consulting had gone through more than a few iterations over the last nine years, and to this day, they all marveled at how five thieves who’d hated even the thought of working with a partner, had become a family. A family that enjoyed basketball and hockey together, that protected and learned from their own, that helped one another heal in the face of some of the most horrible things that could be done to, or by, a human being. And all it had taken was the chance to do something right. To use their skills, their strengths, to be the good guys and help people.

Portland was still their new home, though the new Leverage trio could and did jet out a lot more now that Sophie and Nate had retired. They were all a bit jealous at the pretty island in the Mediterranean that Nate had bought up, but since they all three got bi-yearly invitations to visit, it wasn't so bad. And they had a tendency to take a break after every few jobs now, especially the big ones; Hardison and Parker were on the way back from one such break now, exploring Angkor Wat and the rest of the Cambodian ruins. Eliot, on the other hand...

Thunder rumbled overhead, echoing across the quiet city, in waves almost it seemed...and he glanced up, blue eyes flicking over his sunglasses to study the growing storm. It'd be a bad one tonight, just like the old ones over the plains back home...which meant there'd be another burglary tonight. Where, though, that was the question...and it was one that he intended to find the answer to. He finished typing the last few digits of the long phone number, and hit dial, holding it up to his ear, waiting, still...

“I thought we agreed that you three would take over.”

“Ordinarily, Nate, I’d apologize for calling...but we’ve got a new job. And this one’s a whole lot bigger than all of us...so it’s time to call in reinforcements.” There was a long pause, then a faint sigh, but Nate’s voice was as calm and matter-of-fact as before.

“Well alright then. Where are we flying to, and is that a storm I hear?” Eliot gave a little chuckle, lifting his hand in a quick wave as Parker and Hardison walked out of the terminal, talking animatedly and laughing.

“Oh, you’re gonna love this. Budapest, and yes, it is. If you started out now...”

“We’ll be there by dawn.”

* * *

 

Eliot smirked as Sophie cased the suite he’d commandeered for their temporary base, and settled back in his chair, beer in one hand, tablet in the other, and he let everyone get ready to go. He, for a change, was leading the con, and he was slightly surprised that Nate hadn’t taken it over...but then again, Nate was talking softly with Parker, clearly catching up, and judging from the smiles on both their faces...well, he didn’t mind so much. It was good to see Parker being normal...even better to see Nate honestly happy...and thankfully, just nursing his coffee, sans whiskey.

“Alright, Eliot, I’ve got it all ready; thanks for the head’s up.” Hardison had settled himself on one of the high bar stools, his own high-powered tablet handy, and finished the run through for the projector.

“No problem. Alright, everyone ready? We’re workin’ on a timeline here.” Satisfied with their enthusiastic “Yes”, he nodded to Hardison, who cracked his knuckles and grinned a little.

“Alrighty, a nice warm welcome back to our favorite grifter and mastermind; it’s so good to see you both again on the team. Now, the job we’ve been contracted to do is A) extremely important, B) extremely awesome, and C) a huge damn payout. Like, this will make the Dubenich job look like pocket change.” Eliot grinned a little at everyone’s sudden, focused listening, and Hardison barreled on, standing up now to pull up photos and official documents...official SHIELD documents.

“We’ve been contracted to find and reunite the Avengers by King T’Challa himself.” Even Nate looked flabbergasted, and Hardison gave him a little sympathy. “Believe me, Nate, I had that same exact look on my face too when Eliot told me last night. Now, the King knows that things are messy since...well, pretty much the Battle of New York. Everything that’s come since then has splintered the world’s mightiest heroes into going off on their own...and that’s from Tony Stark, thank you.”

“So...where the hell do we start?” Nate sounded a little annoyed now, and definitely apprehensive, and Hardison nodded, bringing up the single photo and profile of their current mark.

“First and foremost, Special Agent Clint Barton, aka Hawkeye. Barton’s got contacts all over the world, true, but get this, he's currently on the run.” He pulled up the long list of museums and banks broken into and robbed...all with the same trademark arrows left in the guards. “Now, the King does not believe that this is Barton’s work, despite the arrows left at every scene; he says, and I quote, “The man introduced himself to me before trying to fight me, by first name; agent though he may be, he is not the kind of man who would go on this sort of rampage.” Our job is to find Hawkeye, bring him in, and detain him for T’Challa.”

Nate blinked, then got up, studying the handsome blond man’s face, and glanced at Eliot.

“Special agent. Can you take him?”

“Oh, it’ll get bloody if he’s going for the kill, but yeah, I can. He’s like me; he doesn’t much care for guns and he doesn’t kill unless there’s no other choice. He’s a sniper, Nate, not a wet-work guy; most of his killing is done through a scope, and even then, from the rumors I’d heard, he’d given all of it up after the Battle.”

“...Are you sure?”

“Man, if a crazy Norse god had mind-controlled me, then used me to kill my comrades? I’d give it up too. From the reports dumped on the web after the fall of SHIELD and Hydra, I figured he’d probably just stuck to the hero stuff, fight against those that actually posed a risk to the Earth. But this...this ain’t like him. I can tell you that right now.” Nate studied him, arms crossed, and gave a slow nod.

“...That’s why you took the job. Because you knew this is a set up.”

“Damn right it is. But the problem is right now, we have a list of places that got broke in to, and no one other than Barton to blame. We gotta get some clues from some of the other places, Nate, or we’ll never catch these guys.”

“Alright. Well then...let’s go steal an archer.”

* * *

 

Finding the next museum had been an exercise in trial and error, but surprisingly, it hadn’t taken more than four days to get all the clues the police had missed. Of course, they hadn’t looked in quite the same places...and they didn’t have Parker. And they’d struck paydirt with a slightly less secured hack on the security systems; Hardison had gleefully traced and placed an e-tracker on the phone the perp was carrying, and now they established themselves in the Magyar Nemzeti Galéria, the National Gallery.

They were all still preparing for the move of the collections to the new building in the next year, and as Sophie put it: “It’s a thief’s paradise!” Which, they all suspected, was why they’d managed to slip in relatively unnoticed...and if they could, their mark most certainly was already there. The trick was figuring out just who it was.

“Eliot, what’s your status?”

“Just finished my patrol and practicing my Hungarian; the guards are pretty friendly and relaxed, and I convinced them all to go back and watch the nationals and that I’d cover the full patrol.”

“...Nationals?”

“Soccer, Nate. Or football here in Europe.” Eliot could almost feel the shrug, and just shook his head, flashing his light over the empty galleries.

“Well, when in Rome. Alright, Parker, any sign up there?”

“Nothing yet, Nate; just an impressively small amount of dust. They really do a great job with the cleaning here. Also, I love this architecture. Lots of handholds.”

“I know, it’s such a relief; Nate, darling, tell me I don’t need this lovely József Rippl-Rónai?”

“You do not need to steal the Woman Dressed in Polka Dots. Alright, people, let’s keep our eyes open...” Eliot continued his patrol, building on his bumbling, silly character, and making sure to keep his movements even; Hardison was altering his location to show on the other side of the museum through the security feeds.

“Ah, Nate? I’ve got movement on my security feed up in the northeast wing. Eliot, they are about ten minutes from your location. Proceed with caution; I’m picking up more than one body.” He eased down the corridors, leaving behind a silent trail of anything that the thieves might try to grab onto, or might betray his position. His badge, radio, hat, jacket...he eased into the first large gallery, keeping to the shadows and blessing the Hungarians for a dark gray uniform; that blended so much better than any other color.

He didn’t say a word, but then again, he didn’t have to; Hardison was keeping a quiet murmur in his ear, counting off the thieves while Parker got herself into position overhead. He caught a glimpse of her dark form once, then she was a shadow just like all the rest...and that’s when the first voice sounded from the thieves before him.

“You had better be right about this, Chisholm; I am not happy with the lack of guards.”

“Puttasock in it, girlie; y’saw ‘em, they’re all watchin’ that soccer shit. Ain’t none of ‘em gonna catch us.”

“But the one guard...”

“Yer boys saw him five minutes ago down at the other end of the damn museum; it don’t matter if he’s Jesse Owens, he ain’t gonna make it here in under twenty minutes. Now grab the damn paintin’s an’ let’s go.” The man was clearly American, from the Midwest for certain, and the girl...definitely Russian. Eliot caught a flip of blonde hair in the faint light from the moon overhead, and just watched, glad that Hardison was getting video of all of this, and audio too.

There were probably fifteen guys in here, counting those two, and while that wasn’t...impossible, it wasn’t pleasant. And if they hadn’t taken down a guard yet, he had no reason to pick a fight, regardless of what they’d done before; with this footage and the audio, they could send all of this to Sterling and let him do the dirty work. After all, their job was to find Clint Barton; this was just the easiest way to start. Because if someone was casually using his type of arrows, well...it was a sure bet that Barton would be looking for these idiots too.

“...I do not like this.” Chisholm snorted, and shifted, the long, deadly curve of a custom longbow held quite casually in one hand and gleaming in the waxing moonlight.

“I don’t give a damn, girlie. Yer boss is payin’ me good money to do this, an’ what he says goes.” She swore softly in Russian, but didn’t spit at his feet; probably an old habit, judging from her pause, swiftly broken by the new bounds in DNA forensics.

“Eliot, do not look up, but I’m not alone up here.” Parker’s voice was very, very soft, and he did his level best to stay still in the shadows, eyes slitted so that there wasn’t any light gleaming even a fraction off them. If she wasn’t alone... “...I think it’s him, guys. And...I think he needs our help. He’s in pretty bad shape.” That sealed it; Parker even now didn’t always see the obvious issues with her fellow humans, even pointed out to her. For her to volunteer that....yeah, no.

“Eliot, you can ease back in three, two, one...go.” Hardison’s calm was a bit surreal as he watched the thieves make off with the entire room's inventory, and he slipped out of the shadows so well that they didn’t even realize he’d been there. Once he was out into the hall, he locked the door, gathered up his things, and slipped back towards the archival rooms, where Parker had made her ascent.

“Parker, you need me up there?”

“No, no, I managed to get him down here. But, uh...just so you know, he’s deaf. He’s deaf and his ASL is kinda rough. Actually, all of him is rough.” He cut off her babbling when he opened the door to the storage closet...and there was Clint Barton, worn down to the bone, scraggly and bearded, and wearing the battered old suit he’d vanished in.

He didn’t even have a weapon, and one shoe had a lovely pair of holes that could only be a gunshot. But he lifted his head, weary though he clearly was, and glared, blue eyes full of rage...

“I might be deaf, but I’m no killer. I know who the thieves are.” His voice was raspy, deep, and a little bit louder than he might have been in other circumstances. Eliot knelt down, nodding and pointed to his lips; Barton slowly shook his head, and Eliot made sure to enunciate as well as possible.

“We believe you. We’re here to help. Black Panther sent us; will you come with?” He studied his lips for a long moment, then nodded again with a tired sigh. He also lifted a notepad and battered pencil, and Eliot nodded; good, that meant he was prepared to read notes if he had to. He offered Barton a hand up, and ended up helping the man stagger back to Lucille the IV (Lucille III had had...a meltdown two years before in Mexico. All the blame on Chaos. Again.)

Nate, Sophie, and Hardison met them a few minutes later, and they drove off under the quiet cover of darkness.

“This...is worse than we thought.” Nate’s voice was quiet, and Eliot sighed as he glanced out the back window.

“Yeah, it is; first things first, though.”

“Right. Take care of Hawkeye...and hope he’ll answer the questions.”

* * *

 

As it turned out, Barton was a surprisingly willing font of information once Hardison had modified a pair of earbuds to act as proper hearing aids; add a shower and a shave, and he laid out everything he'd learned in the last six months of following the band of thieves. Eliot finished an easy meal of risotto and chicken for everyone as he sat back, dragging a heavy hand over his face.

"That's all I got. Thanks for the aids, kid, that's helping so much with the fuckin' headache."

"Anytime, man, anytime. Hungry?"

"Fuckin' starving..." Eliot laughed a little, handing over the plate to Hardison, who set it in front of the agent and handed him a fork...Five minutes later, Barton had cleaned the plate and was almost begging with his eyes for seconds. Eliot was more than happy to oblige.

"Better?"

"Oh my god, where the hell did you learn how to cook?" He chuckled, serving up bowls for everyone else and picking up his own.

"It's a long story, man."

"Well, you did your teacher proud, I gotta say..." Nate popped the top off a beer for him, and Barton took it with a grateful smile. "Thanks, guys; I owe ya'll."

"Nah, man, just pay it forward. So...Buck Chisholm and Yelena Belova are the head thieves?"

"Yeah...Trick Shot, and Black Widow. She also goes by Dark Widow, since Tasha's still using her moniker. Buck's a waste of space on a good day, but he's tough and stubborn...Yelena's absolutely vicious, but she's very much the self-centered kinda woman. If he screws up and gets them caught, she'll abandon him without a second thought. Especially if they're workin' for someone else; her first loyalty is to herself, second is to her employers."

"I've heard of her; Red Room, right, just like the Black Widow?"

"The very same, the difference is that Tasha let her live, and has continued to do so. Yelena believes that's her weakness; I know better." Eliot only smiled a little.

"It's her strength. Alright, Hardison, everything's sent to Sterling, right?"

"Yup, and I'm keeping back-ups. He's actually rather appreciative; Interpol's been fighting to uncover these thieves for months."

"...Do I need to worry about this guy?" Barton's blue eyes hardened, and Sophie gently patted his shoulder.

"You needn't; James Sterling might not enjoy our company, but he knows when to let us go on our own way. We help him, he ignores us. It's a rather useful arrangement."

"And besides, he knows who we're working for this time around, right Hardison?"

"That he does, Nate, that he does. In any case, we can probably get you off to Wakanda on the next flight out, Agent Barton..."

"Not yet." Everyone paused to stare at him, and Clint sighed, leaning forward on his crossed arms. "Guys, you gotta understand; they aren't just using my name and my weaponry to stage these crimes. They ruined as many of my identities as possible. I've got ganglords, more than a few government officials, and a whole bunch of assholes after my hide. I go to Wakanda, I'm bringin' all of that to T'Challa's doorstep. I can't do that. I gotta clear my name, and catch at least Chisholm. Yelena...well, let's just say that there's not a one among us who could take her down...

"Not even you, Spencer." He added, noting Eliot's stubborn frown. "Her only rival has ever been Natasha..." He finished off his beer, looking pensive, and Nate took over, clapping his hands together.

"Alright. So, Hardison, let Sterling know that we're going to help set them up. Sophie, I need you to craft the right characters to get us into the State Gala next week. That's where they're going to strike next. Parker, plans, and Eliot..." He paused, meeting the hitter's eyes. "Get out your best suit, and find one for the agent. You're both going in undercover." Barton studied him for a long moment, eyes narrowed.

"...I'd ask how you're so sure that they're going to hit the Gala, but I suspect I don't want to know the answer to that."

"Trust me, Agent, he's a criminal mastermind with a knack for thinking a hundred moves ahead. You definitely don't want the answer to that."

* * *

 

Eliot was surprised at the ease in which Barton moved in the Gala; his Hungarian was only slightly accented, and that with a dialect from the south, his manners impeccable, and his charm...Eliot found himself in the unwelcome position of being the wingman as Barton danced attendance to each of the lovely single ladies, and even a few of the married ones. And honestly, he probably would have been more annoyed if Yelena wasn't visible to both of them, chatting up the Hungarian President with a toss of her long blond curls.

Barton was wise enough to keep his goatee and faint mustache, and Sophie had trimmed up his shaggy hair into something spiky and handsome, while Eliot had found him a handsome gray suit with a dark blue vest and tie. He looked like a carelessly handsome fellow with eyes only on the pretty women he was flirting with...Yelena hadn't even noticed him. She had, however, noticed Eliot, and he let himself drop into the awkward American, giving her a friendly smile as she left the President and glided over to him.

Her gown was the same shade of freshly spilled blood, and flowed over her every considerable curve; he suppressed a shiver. She could kill without batting an eyelash in that dress, and no one would be the wiser...

"You're a right pretty lady, ma'am, can I get you a drink?" She giggled, pale blue eyes glittering, and let him take her hand on his arm.

"Well, I think I can oblige you, Mr. Cowboy. After all, you came all this way, and you looked so very alone..." He allowed himself a shy blush, ordering her a glass of pinot gris and another whiskey for himself, and fed her the simple story of being a rancher and coming up in the world, a world a whole lot different from his cattle back in Texas. She tittered and laughed and thanked him for coming, and he let her guide him into giving up nearly all of his information (Sophie's backstory, of course, and damned if he wasn't glad she made taking notes a breeze).

"Well, that's all there is to me, I'm afraid. I just ain't like these fellas here..." She waved her hand at that, turning serious blue eyes on him. They’d danced a few dances now, her warmth in his arms, and she smelled faintly of gunpowder and sandalwood, her blue eyes growing fonder with each passing step.

"No, but that is not a bad thing. I do not like fellows like these; I like real men, men who will keep their promises, who will not treat me as though I am garbage." Her eyes and smile softened, and he realized that it wasn't really an act now. "Men like you are good men, strong men, honest men...they are very rare in this world..." She sighed, glancing back towards the president, and gave him a rueful smile. "Alas, I must leave you in your rarity; I made my promises, and I must keep them."

He only bowed his head, and gave her hand a soft kiss. She let him linger there, and smiled when he lifted it again. "Then I will take my leave of you, fair goddess, and if your promises are discharged sooner than you think, just give me a call, any time." She took his proffered card with a shyer smile than the ones she'd given him before, and tucked it gently in her small clutch.

"...You truly are a good man. I...I would not stay here, past eleven tonight; this is not a safe place for good people." Her smile was sad, and he only nodded, letting her drift away, and eased out of the crowd, unsurprised to find that Barton was waiting for him. The agent, however, looked faintly shocked, and Eliot just shrugged, leading them both out the back to Lucille. Once they were inside, Barton finally spoke.

"...I don't know if it's the Texas charm or the honest way you said all that, but that's the most emotion and kindness I've ever seen her show." Eliot shrugged again, studying the monitors.

"Honestly, man, I think she just needed to know that there are people out there that are truly honest and good. Sure, I ain't one of 'em, but maybe she's not all rotten. I'm not sayin' she's a perfect candidate for reform, but..."

"She isn't like Chisholm."

"That she ain't. Alright, so when do we sneak back in?" Hardison motioned to the camera tucked inside the smaller meeting room, and sighed.

"Probably after eleven, when she said; all these guys are talking about a deal going down, and since this Gala's also sporting more than a few Czech and Hungarian artists and their works, I'm gonna guess that once the guests split off into smaller parties, they'll rob the place blind, sell off the paintings to the greedy bastards who want them, and kill one of the high-ranking officials and blame it on Clint."

"Joy."

"C'mon, Hawkguy, we're not gonna let that happen!" Parker looked entirely too happy suspended from the ceiling of Lucille, and Barton blinked up at her, then grinned.

"...You got that from my file, didn't you?"

"Something about a guy name Grills called you that forever, and he got hurt and passed away, and you helped his dad out?" Barton's eyes softened and he nodded, running a hand through his spiky blond hair. "I also know about Lucky; that's so cool to have a pizza dog!" He laughed at that, and Eliot grinned.

"Pizza dog?"

"I swear to god, I didn't feed him pizza on purpose, it just sorta happened, and now I've got this one-eyed mutt who loves me more than I deserve. We usually share a large meat lover's and watch bad cable on the couch."

"...that explains the beer gut."

"Oh shut up, I'm forty-three. I'm allowed to have a few extra pounds."

"Guys, hold on...we've got incoming." Everyone jerked back to the screens, and Barton swore at the tiny figure in black tearing across the rooftop, tearing out of the van and scaling the fire escape like the carnie he'd once been. Eliot was right after him, with Parker hot on his heels, and they scaled the escape just a minute or two after the agent. He'd taken off over the enormous roof, and come to a stop just thirty feet before the intruder, panting and staring at her. It wasn't until Eliot got close that he could make out Clint's words...and they chilled him to the bone.

"Natasha? Natasha, it's me, it's Clint, your favorite dumbass best friend. Please, god, don't do this, you swore you were done with this shit. Remember that? Remember the red in your ledger? Remember when we promised, after New York..." Green eyes stared back at them, her cowl shifting down...but that hauntingly beautiful face was vacant...and Clint let out a cry when she turned and sprinted off the roof, nearly hurtling himself over despite Eliot and Parker catching him....

But there was no one splattered on the concrete far below. Instead, her shadow was down at the end of the alleyway, and vanished into the night...and Eliot dragged Clint back.

"Hawkguy, Hawkguy, c'mon! She's not gonna come back, but she's not dead, so we gotta do what we can to make sure we can get to her!" Parker was frantic, trying to get him to see reason, and something must've clicked because he froze, then stared up at her.

"...You're trying to bring all of us back, right?"

"Right."

"...She's next on the list."

"Absolutely. But we gotta get moving; they're gonna start robbing this place soon, and if they don't kill the president, they'll probably get one of his cronies." Clint nodded, winced...and stood up, helping Eliot back up.

"You're right. You're absolutely right, Parker...can you pop the lock on that skylight? I'll get my gear, and kill the lights, then we'll all scuttle down the rope and take out Chisholm and Belova if we can."

"You think you can take her, Barton?"

"Oh hell no, but I can get Buck's ugly mug without too much difficulty. He never was that smart." Clint winked at him, and strode off over the roof, grabbing up his quiver, his harness, and his beautiful longbow, and within moments, the hatch was popped, he'd shorted out the lighting systems and security feeds (that weren't Hardison's)...and they were shimmying down the rope, fanning out as the thieves came out of hiding too.

Eliot felt his blood heat up as the first guy threw a punch; he grinned like a snake, caught his hand and broke the asshole's shoulder, then gave him a gut-punch that knocked him clean out. Parker was holding her own behind him, and Clint had swung from the rope to the balcony, picking off the armed thugs with his taser-arrows. The fight was brutal fast, and over soon enough; Eliot had the intense pleasure of watching Chisholm stalk out, already bellowing about his idiot henchmen, when Clint dropped down behind him.

A heel to the back of his knee, an arm around his throat, and Clint had his former mentor on the ground writhing, face turning an interesting shade of purple as Clint knocked him clean out...and then there was one. Yelena's dress whispered across the marble, and Eliot turned to face her, feeling a slight pang at the sad smile on her lips. She didn't seem so dangerous now, though he knew full well what she could do, and she only nodded her respect to Clint as he stood back up, nocking an arrow.

"Hawkeye."

"Widow."

"...I did not wish to implicate you in these crimes. I want you to know that." He nodded, though he didn’t move a hair. She didn’t seem surprised, and turned to Eliot.

“...I suppose I was right after all. No man is truly honest...but you are good. You have seen blood, hate, pain...yet you are good. I...cannot blame you. And I will not. I will cooperate with Interpol on one condition.” Clint snarled, just a little, and she sighed. “It is not one that you will deny, Hawkeye. I ask that you save Natalia.” He froze at that. “She has been taken by our former captors; I trust you know what that entails. Save her, before she becomes their murderer again. I...do not agree with her quest, but I cannot in good faith not spare her, for she has spared me to her own detriment many a time. Have we a deal?” Clint closed his eyes, thinking...and nodded.

“We have a deal...is that why you didn’t fight back?” She only nodded, and as the agents swarmed the gallery, light filling the space once more, she allowed herself to be hobbled and shackled, giving Eliot a sad, sad smile.

“Das vidanya. It was a beautiful last night you gave me, I must say, and for that, I will always be in your debt.” With that, she was gone, and Eliot could only gather up his crew and lead them back to Sophie and Nate, who were even now laying out new identities and plans for the rest of the Avengers. The ride back was quiet, somber...and Eliot closed his eyes, cherishing that happy laugh and her glowing eyes in the little place in his heart where he kept all the ones that got away...or got put away.

* * *

 

“So, Barton, where do we start in looking for your erstwhile partner?” Clint mused over the maps, and finally marked a spot in Western Russia, a little town with more consonants than vowels, and tapped it with his pen.

“There. That’s the Red Room’s base, that’s where they’ll keep her between missions. We stake it out, I go in, we get the brainwashing technique out, and then, we get Tasha out.”

“...and what if they say ‘no’?” Clint’s smile was all teeth and no amusement, and he ran a hand over the curved black wood of his bow.

“Then we take her back, and show the bastards what it’s really like to mess with an Avenger.” Nate stared him down, eyes narrowed.

“...Fine. But we’re thieves, not killers. Not anymore.”

“I’m not asking you to be. Hell, I want you all to be thieves; it’ll take all of us to break into that bunker. If there’s killing that needs done, I’ll do it; I can look myself in the eye afterwards, and my hands are already stained with blood.”

“...So be it. But...no killing. If we can manage it.”

“Fair enough. Taser?”

“Perfectly fine. In fact, Parker has-”

“Parker has a brand new taser!” She dropped from the ceiling with a giggle, landing in Hardison’s arms, and brandished the new weapon...and Nate rolled his eyes.

“Alright team...let’s go steal a spider.”


End file.
